A Dream before Dying: Epilogue
by MissDillyDilly
Summary: Picard and Data, trapped in the Enterprise runabout while a storm rages outside, find a mutually-satisfying way to pass the time... This is an explicit M-rated slash story for Data/Picard, so please don’t read on if you’re offended by that sort of thing.
1. Chapter 1

**A Dream before Dying: Epilogue**

**Summary**: Picard and Data, trapped in the _Enterprise_ runabout while a storm rages outside, find a mutually-satisfying way to pass the time... This is an explicit M-rated slash story for Data/Picard, so please don't read on if you're offended by that sort of thing.

**Disclaimers**: I have made no money from writing this story. I do not own anything connected with any of the Star Trek franchises, which all seem to belong to a complex combination of CBS, Viacom and Paramount. Neither do I own either Commander Data or Brent Spiner – if I did, you think I'd be wasting my time typing???

**A/N**: This is the sequel to the T-rated story 'A Dream before Dying', which tells how Data and Picard came to be in the runabout – indeed, as this is a post-_Nemesis_ story, how they came to be back together again. This story will make more sense if you read that one first, as there are numerous references to previous events, and several loose ends from those events to satisfactorily tie up.

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Chapter 1 of 2

In the silence that followed his words, Picard dared not meet his companion's eyes. He was suddenly shy, suddenly humble in the presence of someone so uniquely beautiful. Continuing to caress the hand he held, he could hardly breathe for the thick, insistent thumping of his heart.

He had no fear that Data would reject him: ironically, after so many days of anguish, such concerns now seemed little less than foolish. As he turned the pale hand in his own, it folded and moulded itself to his desire, offering finger, knuckle, and palm to his worshipping lips. If his kisses had left visible imprints, Data's hand would have completely disappeared. Finally, he became still, cradling the hand in his own, marvelling at the contrast of cream and pink flesh, the conjunction of delicate and workaday fingers. The world stood still and held its breath.

After a moment Data stood, still holding Picard's hand, and gently pulling his Captain up as he did so. Picard had no idea what to expect, and he was shaking with such fierce anticipation and dread that he could hardly stand. His legs felt like jelly; his insides had turned to water. He licked his lips, which were suddenly very dry.

Data's eyes went to the movement. Slowly – silkily – he took the small step that separated him from his Captain. Their faces were so close that they almost touched: Picard could feel Data's heat across the half inch between their bodies as they stood, poised on the edge of something irreversibly wonderful. Then Data's arms were around him, strong and sweet and powerful, and Picard replied in kind, holding the other man and soaking in the living warmth beneath the soft clothing. Instinctively, he pressed his hands up beneath Data's shirt, caressing the flesh and moving his hands across Data's back, feeling the artificial bones and sinews within the manufactured skin, taking joy in the beauty of every inch, and trying all the while to pull him ever closer. He rested his head on Data's shoulder and vowed never to let him go: within the cage of the android's enveloping arms, he felt safe and secure as he had never done before.

As their bodies clung to each other, he felt the firm, decisive movement of Data's response, and knew that it was answered by his own: automatically, their hips began to grind together, gently and insistently, as they opened the doors to desires too long shut out and revelled in the glorious excitement of brutal, erotic contact. Picard's stomach was bursting with exploding stars, and the need to grasp Data's growing hardness was almost overwhelming. He wanted to feel the long, satin shaft slipping through his fingers and, reaching further down, cradle the soft balls hanging heavy beneath, cupping them in his palm and sliding one across the other until Data ignited in helpless ecstasy. The urge was too strong to be fought, and he felt his hand drop down the other's shoulder.

Then Data moved, and he felt the conscious golden lips on his own for the first time. They were soft, demanding lips, parting as they parted his own, moving deeper into him with each second, eating him, sucking him up whole, as Data's tongue explored his mouth with its slick, sensuous wetness and the android's arms pulled him even closer, until there was nothing between them, not even thought itself. He opened completely, urging Data to probe further, his own tongue searching out the soft, promising moisture, urgent stabs of lust firing up through his body from his growing hardness, now squeezed between them in a glorious, writhing trap of moving bodies. He wanted it all – oh God, he wanted it all! He wanted to be kissed into oblivion, to lose himself in Data's limitless mouth, and he wanted to feel Data's hand around him, swollen with need and fire, sliding along his length again and again as he brought him to his climax, filling up his hand, his body, the room, the world…

His own hand came back up to Data's shoulders, now more urgent than before, pulling the pale cream body to his, exploring the beautiful back beneath the shirt, slipping subtly below the loose waistband to cover the smooth, pulsing buttocks, rock hard with tension and want. He heard Data moan within the kiss, and gripped him tighter, grinding their erections together until both were solid, full and huge with desire. He lost the ability for rational thought. Pulling away from his almost-lover, breathless and gasping with lust, he raked his eyes over Data's face – the half lidded eyes, the slightly open mouth, the sensitive, swollen tongue – and fell into a second kiss, aggressive, searching, violent in its desperate and unfulfilled need. He drank Data dry, bruising his lips with unstoppable, loving cruelty, vicious in his want, plunging into the open mouth and feeling Data's answering strength as his own mouth was probed without mercy, raked through by the android's supple, powerful tongue. He gripped the back of Data's neck, feeling the soft silver hair beneath his hands, running his fingers through it and grasping it in urgent, furious handfuls, eating Data whole, ravishing his mouth until he had neither breath nor sense left to carry on.

Panting, he broke the contact and, hardly knowing what he did, slipped his hands again into the waistband of Data's pants, dragging them to the floor as he himself sank to his knees. He was drunk with the lust of it all, wild and giddy and greedy with wanting and delight. As the clothing fell away, Data's erection sprang up, thick and solid and already wet with desire, and Picard took him deep into his mouth, feeling the tender head caress the back of his throat like silk, closing his swollen lips around it like a womb. Grasping Data's buttocks with one hand, he pulled him in, almost swallowing the engorged shaft as it trembled and throbbed and thrust into the warm, wet darkness of his open mouth.

Closing his eyes, he lost himself completely in the slipping of his mouth over Data's moist, compliant hardness, teasing its sensitive tip with his tongue, lapping at the raised, throbbing vein that stood out along its length like sinewy rope. He alternately sucked and licked, and felt Data's trembling hands grasping him, holding him there, worshipping at the altar of untamed, unfettered sex. With his free hand, he reached up to Data's balls, flexing with desire as the orgasm began to build within them, and as he touched and rubbed them against each other within the rough, ropey sac, Data mewled with pleasure. They leapt away in a spasm of desire but he caught at them again, rolling them within his palm with just enough force to make Data moan, softly, insistently, louder and louder as the skin began to tighten and prepare for the explosion to come.

He worked the thick, solid shaft harder now, urgently driving it into his mouth and dragging it out, frantically pushing his face into the warm, damp crotch as Data began to thrust, his limbs braced, his muscles taught and strong and unbelievably beautiful as he spread his legs. Caressing those beautiful buttocks, Picard began to suck harder, so hard that he knew it must hurt: but he was familiar with that exquisite pain and knew that, once experienced, no man could ever get enough of it. Data pushed harder, more violently, filling up Picard's mouth and throat with the first salty, tangy liquid; Picard squeezed his balls once more, feeling them convulse into his body, and he knew he was almost there. Moving his fingers across Data's slender back, he caressed the top of the crease between his buttocks, then began to slide his long middle finger down, pressing it in towards Data's body, diving deeper towards the deep, slick mystery of that hidden darkness, and Data reacted instantly, his legs knotting rigid as he leapt further into Picard's mouth, pulsing out gloriously in great gushes that almost choked him with their force and sweetness. Swallowing desperately, holding onto the enormous, plunging cock, he sank his face into Data's moist body, sucking up his android juices, keeping him steady and solid inside his mouth until Data at last ceased to shudder uncontrollably, and merely stood, trembling, holding onto Picard's shoulders and making small crying noises as he came down from the heights of unbelievable, throbbing ecstasy.

"Jean – Jean…"

Picard felt the balls drop gently back into his hand, and reached out a finger to stroke the smooth, sensitive skin behind them. Data shuddered one last time, and again Picard tasted that glorious sweetness.

Slowly, slowly, he drew back from the still engorged shaft, quivering with after-lust, and began to lick along its length, lapping up the last of the thick fluid that had spilled from it in Data's frenzy. He rubbed its heaviness across his face, wanting to be marked with the musky scent of it, wanting it to permeate him so everyone would know to whom he belonged. He cradled it in his hands, marvelling at the thickness and power of it, glowing in the aftertaste, as piercing and fiery as anything he had ever known. Breathing deeply, he came to himself again, becoming aware of his own huge erection, painfully stiff and urgent as it pressed, trapped, against his clothing, making a tent of his pants front and desperately trying to burst out of its soft, confining cage. His balls ached as they cried out to release their hot, demanding load, almost exploding with unslaked lust. His stomach wrenched, muscles spasming as never before and, wild for release, he instinctively reached down to free the massive, throbbing cock.

One touch was all it took, he was so close. One slight stroke of his hand and he fired uncontrollably, his whole body arching as he emptied himself again and again, his stomach clenching and exploding with fiery, irresistible lust, and violent shudders convulsing every nerve as huge uncontrollable spurts filled the confines of his clothing, so loaded with liquid that it shone palely with the weight of it, hanging heavy around his soaked, trembling thighs. Again and yet again he shot, six, seven times, as though his whole body were emptying itself in frantic ecstasy to complete exhaustion. Yelling in his orgasm with utter abandon, the whole world erupted around him, with him, within him, turning him inside out as he gasped for air, grasping Data's wrists to hold himself upright, feeling the android's strength as it keeping him from falling, dizzy and half-senseless with astonishment and breathlessness and shock.

Slowly, the madness subsided, although the saturated cloth rubbing against him still sent shivers through his stomach as he moved. Slowly, his breathing returned to something like normal, and he was able to open his eyes and think something approaching coherent thoughts. Crazily, punch-drunk, he staggered to his feet, still clinging to his companion as if to the rock of life itself. "Data!" he gasped, scarcely able to articulate, let alone string three words together. "Data – oh God, Data…"

Once more, those strong, perfect arms came around him, caging him in their gentle, vice-like grip. He felt his head cradled like a child's. "It is all right, Jean-Luc. It is all right."

He tried to shake his head, his voice muffled against the android's shoulder. "No, it's not – I'm sorry – God, Data, so sorry…"

Data's arms loosened, and he held Picard away from him so that they were able to stare into each other's eyes. "Sorry?" He shook his own head, an expression of gentle disbelief on his beautiful, flushed face. "For what?"

"For – " Picard's hand waved at his ruined pants. He had no other words.

In reply, Data stooped, scooping up his Captain and holding him in his arms like a beloved child. He buried his head deep in the fresh, sucking wetness, and when he lifted it again, he was smiling: that small, beatific smile that was so peculiarly his own. "That?" he said, pulling Picard in to kiss him again. "That?" he whispered, the smile spreading to his voice. "That, Jean-Luc?" Picard saw tears stand out in his lover's eyes, and knew them to be tears of joy.

He felt crazy, dizzy – drunk like a teenager after too many bottles of wine. He hadn't felt this way since he'd taken the tourist cascade down old Victoria Falls in a reinforced glass bubble: technically perfectly safe, but not for the delicate of constitution. He wanted to shout with pure, crystal-like elation. Data's arms around him, holding him just a little too tightly, were all he wanted from life at that moment and, when the android stepped out of his crumpled pants, crossed the room, and placed him on the bed, he mourned the loss of contact. He reached out to caress the pale, beautiful face.

"Data…"

"Jean?"

Picard smiled. "Why do you call me that?"

Data paused, and Picard knew that, for a nanosecond, all his processors had been turned over to answering the question. He loved the total concentration that Data could evince: it was innocent in an uninnocent world. "I do not know, Sir. I did not – I have not used it before."

Picard recognised the hesitation, and gently stroked the face that hovered above his own. "Then it's all mine," he whispered. "Thank you." He wished he too had a unique name for this unique man. Perhaps it would come in time.

In lieu of a verbal caress, he reached out to the fastenings that held Data's silk shirt. They were easy to undo, and the soft, slippery material shrugged away from the golden shoulders like an offering to a god. Data wasn't as broad as his Captain, but his shoulders were strong, lithe and – if human – would have rippled gently with understated muscles. Picard gazed at his chest, mesmerised: covered in fine, pale hair, it invited his tired head and heart to lay themselves down upon it and rest.

Then he noticed something else. "Data? What's this?" His finger traced a fine, raised line running diagonally from the android's left shoulder to his right hip, slightly paler than the pale yellow skin that surrounded it, almost like a scar. "Data? Has – someone hurt you?" Distress flooded through him.

There was a long pause. When Data replied, his voice held the delicacy of something little talked of. "The Borg Queen – when she gave me flesh…"

"Oh my God."

Data glanced at him, curious. "It happened here as well?"

Picard nodded. Too well he remembered the change she had wrought in Data's skin; too well he remembered the love and fear that had prompted his own almost-sacrifice; and too well he remembered the new, human flesh being torn from the android's body as he destroyed the woman who had so tormented and fascinated them both. But surely only Data's face and arm had been affected? "She did that?" Data nodded. Picard's distress became more acute. "I didn't know. You – he – never told me. I – didn't know."

Data took his hand. "Geordi would have repaired the wound, as he repaired the others, but my Captain – wished it to remain." He swallowed, a touchingly human gesture. "He felt it was a mark of manhood. That it gave me character."

Picard was appalled. That he – his counterpart – could even have thought… It was almost unimaginable. It was ghoulish, exploitative, controlling – everything that he himself was not. He grimaced, and spoke very carefully. "If you wish to remove it, you should do so. Your body belongs to you, Data, and to no-one else. Never forget that." What kind of man had this other Picard been? He wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"Thank you, Captain," Data whispered. "I will speak to Geordi upon our return."

Picard blinked back angry tears, and again stroked the smooth mark, such an avoidable reminder of such a terrible experience. He reached over and kissed the damaged skin where it stood proud, trying to soothe with love what had been created so long ago by hate, and perpetuated by – by God knew what twisted desire. But, whatever its history, it was part of the man he loved, and therefore beautiful. So he laid his head on the delicate, wounded flesh, and let it rest there, snuggling into the gentle warmth. He felt Data sigh, and was incongruously curious. "How do you do that, when you don't breathe?"

"Just because I do not breathe, sir, does not mean I cannot."

"Hmm." He closed his eyes. "You are very comfortable, Commander."

There was another pause, and Picard thought Data must have drifted into an android reverie when he spoke again, this time very softly, almost as if he did not intend Picard to hear. "And you are very different, my Jean."

Picard raised his lazy head, and focussed on his supine companion. "What?"

"Oh – nothing, sir."

Now the Captain's interest was really piqued. "Different from what, Data? From whom?"

"From – from the other Captain Picard, sir."

_I should hope so_, Picard thought. "Ah. You know, it's generally considered quite bad form to talk about previous lovers when you're in bed."

"You did ask," Data replied mildly. One of his hands stroked the Captain's head, smoothing down imaginary hair.

"How? How am I different? That is – " suddenly remembering that such a topic must be painful " – if you want to talk about it."

"I do not mind. He – he was far more dominant than you are, Captain. Far less gentle. I do not mean that he was violent, or uncaring – but he did not always see the small things that you see. He was not, as you are, a man of subtlety. I – I feel very much more obviously loved in your presence." He stopped short, as if feeling he had said enough about his dead friend.

Picard's heart wrenched. To imagine Data, offering all the exquisite, fathomless love at his command, and receiving back – not something inadequate, for Data had clearly been very much in love with his chosen companion, and deeply wounded by his death – but something merely ordinary. He laid his head on the welcoming chest again, determined to make his love for this unique, lonely man extraordinary.

"I can only love you the way I can," he faltered, "but everything that is in me – everything that makes me who I am – all the love I have to offer, is yours." He felt the stroking hand hold him closer. "I – I am yours, Data, if you'll have me. Always – completely." He felt his eyelids droop, and struggled to maintain his train of thought. It was very important that Data understand. "I – I don't know the words…"

"I do," came the whispered reply. "They are 'I love you'."

Picard knew it was true – had somehow, though he had feared otherwise, known it ever since their eyes met aboard that other _Enterprise_. But to hear it said out loud – that was something else entirely. His mouth became dry, and his mind spun with something more than sex. He shook his head: he wanted words, and they still would not come. He did not deserve to be this happy.

Moving his hand to caress his Captain's face, Data smiled. "And I know that you love me, Jean-Luc. It is a very human failing to lose the power of speech at moments of great emotion."

Picard gulped. He felt inadequate, but he would do better in the future. For now, it was enough that Data understood. He raised his head a little, and matched his lover's smile, blinking back the happy tears. "I do, Data," he whispered. "I do."

Data pulled his Captain closer, settling him into the hollow of his chest again. "Sleep, my Jean. Sleep…"

Overwhelmed at last by a deep, peaceful weariness, he curled up in the sanctuary of Data's strong arms, burying his face into the soft, warm pillow that Data's chest provided, and fell asleep. He was perfectly, blissfully, content.

_To be completed in Chapter 2_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 of 2

He did not know how long it was before he was awakened by the touch of someone's hand cupping him through his thin pants. It was a warm, safe feeling, and he allowed himself to drift into consciousness on a gentle wave of pleasure. His nerves seemed to be hypersensitive, and he almost heard the virtually silent thrum of Data's machine-based functions. He noticed that the storm outside had died away. He could probably return to the dig site now…

He sighed, put an arm around the chest on which he lay, and tried to bury his face deeper into the exquisitely scarred flesh. No archaeology could match this. Fascinating as it was, it was history, and history made available by death. There had been too much death between them for him to welcome any more: this was now – this was life. He turned his mouth to the pale skin and kissed it. "Data," he whispered. "Oh, Data…"

As if in reply, he felt the pressure of the caressing hand subtly increase, and thrilled to the knowledge that Data, who could have had anyone, wanted him. With all his imperfections, all his hesitations and uncertainties, Data wanted _him_. He wished he could respond to the physical gesture, but he was entirely spent – deliciously empty and clean. Lovely as it felt, and dearly as he wished to react to that beautiful, welcome touch, he suspected that Data was wasting his time.

Lifting himself up from his unwonted pillow, he lay back and chuckled: the rich, full chuckle of a man at ease with himself and his companion. "You won't get much more out of him, Data – remember, I'm human. You may be able to regulate your bodily functions, but I – ah! Oh…" He swallowed. It would seem that he might be wrong.

"Captain?" Data's voice was mischievous, and when Picard opened his surprised eyes, he saw that his expression was too. "You were saying, sir?"

"Well – maybe…" Picard began to breathe faster. "Maybe."

He had never been a man for repeats: he usually put so much of himself into the first time that it ended up being the only time. He had assumed that his experience with Data would be no exception: but he had never been touched by hands as skilled, stroked by fingers as deft, caressed by senses as divine, as this before.

Data had slipped the ties of Picard's grey shirt, opening it to expose the broadness beneath, and was now trailing his finger-tips across its smoothness, almost touching the skin, and making the hairs stand up on end in delight as they reached out for the android's caress. Picard arched his back to increase the contact, but Data moved away, keeping that tantalising millimetre between them. Slowly, the movement focussed on his upper chest, then on his left nipple, already firm and expectant, waiting to be toyed with by Data's expert fingers. As the perfect nails scraped ever so gently across the sensitive bud, Picard gasped, and he felt his stomach twist involuntarily. For a moment, he was overwhelmed with a need so powerful that he knew he had no control over it: it washed over him, soaking him from head to foot and leaving him dizzy and light-headed. He felt his balls twitch.

Data took the little tower of flesh and began to roll it between his fingers, teasing it into desperate solidity as it rose up to meet him. Then his head dipped and his warm, wet mouth fastened on the other, his tongue working around and across it, sending shafts of desire down into Picard's exhausted cock, demanding that it respond, demanding that it reply and awake and take its glorious due.

"Oh God!" he grunted, totally lost, totally unable to think about anything but his own all-consuming sensations. His senses overflowed, and his body spasmed in response to the insistent stroking. He brought his hands around Data, pressing his head into his chest, running his nails along the android's back, trying to climb into him as they lay entwined, pink and yellow limbs forming a pastel patchwork on the soft dark sheets.

He wanted him – he'd never wanted anything so much in all his life. It wasn't enough that he'd just taken him, just delighted and covered himself with him: he wanted him utterly, completely, flesh buried in flesh, body within body, soul clasping soul. He began to squirm beneath the android's weight, desperate for a deeper physical contact elsewhere.

Data must have realised the strength of his Captain's urgency: he shifted his position, abandoning the rock-hard, desire-dark nipples and reaching down to Picard's sex. Effortlessly lifting his Captain up, he twisted down the still-damp pants with one movement and, with a second, tweaked them off Picard's feet, along with his indoor boots and socks. It was the practised gesture of a being who knew exactly where all the stress and balancing points were: no human could have done it.

Picard groaned again, and automatically spread his legs wide, revelling in the freedom from his wet clothes. Then, with a stab of awful shame, he remembered. "Data – oh Data, it's a mess…"

"Mmm," Data replied, and when he looked up at him, Picard could swear that he saw the lust stand out physically in the android's eyes. He licked his lips. "I know."

He moved between Picard's knees, bent his head, and systematically began to lick his Captain clean.

His tongue was just rough enough to remove all traces of Picard's previous splash of pleasure; just rough enough to dive into all the cracks and crevices of the Captain's folded flesh, doing more than cleaning them: teasing them, stroking them back into life. Working up the insides of his thighs, Data moved closer and closer to Picard's open body, pulling the skin tight with cool, practiced hands, until Picard almost cried out to be taken and have an end to this delicious misery. Finally reaching the dark-skinned balls, hot and tight now with longing, Data began to snuff at the base of them, drawing them into his mouth, his tongue holding and moving them across each other as his hands traced patterns on Picard's lower stomach, down, down, insistently down.

Changing his position, Data sucked suddenly on the delicate package in his mouth, and Picard gasped in exquisite pain. If only – oh, if only Data would – he wanted to be entirely inside him, enclosed in that warm, wet, dark place, swelling to impossibilities within Data's beautiful mouth. "Please – please," he gasped. He felt Data's hand stroke his erection, and almost came. Then he was inside Data's mouth – all of him, every bit of what made him a man, what made him want to be with Data, enclosed in the wicked heat of him, pressing up to be enveloped in the confines of that beautiful body, the tongue moving across, through, between, taking him up, up, up to the edge, gripping the sheets slick with sweat, bucking up into the final explosion, fire shooting out of his belly as – as – and Data's mouth was gone, his hand instead, still running up and down the thick, heavy length, still flooding him with the unstoppable sensations that beat, like waves, each one more powerful, each one nearer, nearer to the final cascade of abandon…

Then Data was speaking. Picard caught his breath, almost crying at the frustration of being so near to breaking. "What?" His voice was harsh: he could not control it."

"I said, do you trust me, sir?"

"What?" Now the question was a genuine response. Why the hell would he not trust Data? Didn't what they were doing show that he trusted him implicitly? But Data's face was very serious: the mischief of a few moments before had vanished. "Trust you?" His head swam. "Good God, man, of course I trust you!"

"Then let me show you something."

Picard could not process such subtlety. He was, for the moment, no longer a thinking, reasoning being: he was a machine for sex, a powerhouse and a greedy sponge, generating it in terawatts and cramming it into himself without thought or consideration like a two-year-old with unlimited ice cream. All he wanted was sex, and all he wanted was for Data to give it to him.

Data's mouth fastened on his, and he drank in his own scent and sweat, mixed with that peculiar taste that was all Data's own. Now, Picard felt violent: now, he wanted the pain that accompanied the pleasure. He thrust his tongue deep into Data's mouth, roughly scouring, recklessly exploring the recesses he found there, grabbing the android's head and pulling him closer. He pressed his lips into the other's, clashing teeth, biting at the soft, sensitive flesh, until Data responded in kind, and Picard felt the first flash of pain, tasted the first sweetness of blood, and felt his body scream in desperate excitement at the sensation.

When they broke the kiss, he looked again into Data's eyes, and saw his own fire mirrored there, contrasting strangely with the loose, oddly vulnerable skin below them, betraying the ageing process to which his lover was now subject. If anything, it made him even more beautiful than he had been before. But the eyes were still young, pale and raw and burning, and he saw in those eyes a fury, an almost-hatred, that in any other man would have terrified him: in Data, it almost sent him over the edge of wild delight. He growled: he had no words.

In a moment, Data was gone, crouching at the end of the bed, roughly pushing the Captain's legs apart and lifting his hips with easy strength. Picard felt fingers exploring him, skimming his balls, caressing the sensitive skin behind them, searching, seeking, for something deeper, something secret and dark – and finding it, probing it, seeking a way in, stretching and manipulating the tightness until it ceased to be tight, slipping through the barriers of everyday existence into another, ecstatic world, penetrating and wounding him, opening him up to new surrenderings, taking him completely, making him his own…

The pain was sharp and delicious. Picard fought against the invasion at first, unprecedented as it was, then slowly relaxed, allowing Data deeper in, welcoming him home. As he felt the cool fingers move inside him, he realised that this – this final gesture of complete love – was what he had been seeking all his life. His belly turned to liquid, his brain to bright white light.

He was completely relaxed now, eager and helpless clay in Data's hands. He watched, half in wonder, as Data manipulated his legs until he was utterly open, before beginning to stroke Picard with his own swollen response, already seeping sweetness, seeking the entrance his fingers had so recently found. Again, the sensation of pain, of tightness yielding, was followed by the beautiful breaking in, the final penetration that made him, body and soul, the willing property of the man towering above him. Gently, inch by inch, Data eased the fat, thick flesh to its goal, filling him up with hot, pulsing tenderness. As the final thrust struck home, Picard yelled: his whole body was on fire, every nerve raw and burning, every synapse and cell screaming for release and not-release and totally, totally lost in Data's overwhelming love.

He clasped his hands around Data's buttocks, trying to draw the android in even deeper. He found Data's own secret entrance, and hooked a gentle finger into it, feeling the crinkled skin, the damp promise of so much pleasure yet to come. He heard Data gasp, almost as if he had sucked his breath in suddenly, and knew that he had felt it. Working the soft place, he matched his movements to those of his lover, who had opened him up so much that he could now ease himself in and out, building the sensation, sliding outer against inner skin, slick and sweet and beautiful.

Then Data's rhythm changed: it became regular, urgent, targeted with intent. He opened himself up completely, offering himself as a glass to take Data's thick wine, pressing his fingers into Data's sensitive opening until they were moist and damp with sweat and lust. He felt Data's own fingers curl themselves around his own painful hardness, and knew that he too was on the edge. He wanted to control himself – wanted to provide the prefect receptacle for Data's being, but his balls spasmed, his cock leaped, and even as he heard Data cry out and explode within him, filling him up with liquid fire that felt as if it would burn its way through the universe, he felt himself pulse out the life that had built to an impossible height within him, emptying all his urgency and desire in wave after wave of relief, festooning the android with his love, and chaining him with thick ropes of spent, wet passion.

His stomach was on fire. He felt the heat of Data within him, searing him with a fine, razor-edged pain, and still the thick cock trembled inside, filling him to bursting and making him whole. Still, Data thrust, spearing him on this vicious love, and even with hands that were weak with exhaustion and exhilaration, Picard pulled him deeper in, wanting to keep him, the feel of him, hard and solid and hot inside.

He looked at his lover, and was amazed. Data's hair, normally so neat and flat, was wild and unkempt, shaggily silver and beautiful in its abandon. His half-closed eyes seemed reckless and unfocussed, full of wantonness and desire even now, and Picard could have sworn he was panting. Data caught his eye, and smiled lasciviously. "Again," he whispered.

Picard's eyes widened. He'd already achieved double what he was used to: what did Data think he was, a machine? Then he understood. He was asking for more, not from him, but for himself. He thrilled and trembled at the thought that Data wanted him so much, and loved him enough to demand this of him. Sated and quieter now, but with every nerve end still heightened from their joining, he responded by moving so that his fingers could work their way into Data more deeply than before. No longer concerned with his own orgasm, he could concentrate entirely on that of his lover. It was a privilege beyond his imagining.

"Again!" he echoed softly, and began to explore.

* * *

The following morning, in a comfortable silence, the two men prepared breakfast prior to leaving their little moon and rendezvousing with the _Enterprise_. They smiled as their hands touched, and enjoyed with pleasure the chance encounters which brought their bodies into contact. Both had found a deep, long-sought-for peace, and were content.

Data placed Picard's croissant on the table, now clear of artefacts that might be damaged by any turbulence during the flight, and sat down to eat. The mental construct that served him in place of a heart was too full for words, and he was quietly satisfied in his Captain's presence, remembering the memories they had created yesterday, anticipating the memories they would create in the days and months to come.

He chewed his croissant thoughtfully, wishing he could taste it. "I am very pleased that Guinan suggested I accept your invitation to accompany you, Captain," he said. "I have no doubt that we would have found each other in time, but this enforced isolation has offered us a unique opportunity to explore – ourselves – uninterrupted. Yes, I am grateful – I must thank her."

He had only been 'thinking aloud', as humans put it, comfortable in the company of another being so close to him as to be hardly separate. He was not, therefore, prepared for Picard's response.

"Guinan suggested you come with me? I thought it was you! That you wanted to."

Data heard the pain in the Captain's voice, and sought to alleviate it. "If you recall, Captain, we were both under some level of misapprehension at the time. While I would most definitely have wished to accompany you, I would never have requested such an assignment. You are not – angry, Jean-Luc?"

"Angry? No. Just perplexed."

"Why, sir?"

"Because it was Guinan who suggested I ask you to come with me."

Data stared at his companion as the silence lengthened. Then, as a sequence of synapses fired and files previously separate were juxtaposed, the pieces of the jigsaw fell into place, and he smiled. "Guinan has – "

" – set us up!" finished Picard. "She knew all along!"

"It does make sense, Captain. She spoke to each of us about the other, obviously recognising our feelings before we did. She called us 'fools', and I regret that she was right."

"You speak for yourself, Mr Data," Picard smiled grimly. "For _my_self, I'm going to give our bartender a very particular piece of my mind."

Data knew his Captain too well to be alarmed at such a speech, and calmly added, "I trust that you will also thank her, sir, for bringing you such good fortune."

He felt Picard's eyes bore into him, but maintained his bland expression. "Did you just crack a joke, Data?" He heard the incredulity in the other's voice.

"No, sir, I was merely expressing myself ironically."

"Data," laughed Picard, "you cracked a joke!"

"As you wish, Captain. Shall we give her the pieces of our minds together? It will surely strike more fear into her than if we do so one at a time."

Picard was silent for a moment, and Data feared he might have been too frivolous. Getting the balance right was so difficult. But then Picard spoke. "Do you know, for someone whose emotion chip has been stolen, fused to his circuitry, battered and bent and switched off and on at the drop of a hat – you really have a very keen wit, Mr Data."

Data felt an absurd surge of pride. "Thank you, sir. I suppose – " he paused, knowing his lover would be irritated by hat he was about to say, "I suppose we should also thank Q."

"Q!"

"Yes, sir. It was his actions, however mischievous, that initiated the chain of events that brought us together."

"Huh."

There was a sudden incongruous flash, and Picard jumped. Q's entrances were always unexpected, sudden and ill-timed, and this was no exception. "Well I'm glad that you at least appreciate me, Mr Data, though I would have thought my dear Jean-Luc…" The powerful being sat companionably at the table with them, dressed as they were in casual clothing, buttered croissant in hand.

Data always found Q curious. "Have you been listening to our conversation, Q?"

"Have you been watching us?" Picard snapped, and Data saw from the voyeuristic glint in the newcomer's eye that he probably had. Picard, however, did not seem to notice.

"My dear Captain – captains – although I see that Data has assumed a more subordinate role in order to please his new commanding officer – how could you imagine such a thing? I can go anywhere, see anything – why should I be interested in the sweaty couplings of two primitive bipeds? No, _mes capitaines_, I have come to accept that which is my reward. Data has already graciously bestowed it upon me. Now it's your turn, Jean-Luc. Some gratitude, please. Merely some gratitude."

Data found the sight of his Captain grinding his teeth incongruously amusing. He watched Picard master his annoyance with this pompous, opinionated man, then turn to Q and – astonishingly – hold out his hand. "You have given me the greatest gift of my life," he said simply, and Data felt his throat catch. "You're a damned nuisance, Q, but – I…" He stopped, emotion apparently getting the better of him. Then he reached out to Data, who gladly offered his hand in turn. "Thank you," he whispered, and Data saw that his eyes were wet. "Thank you."

"Jean-Luc!" Q said, almost simpering, and Data realised that he was actually embarrassed. "I – well – I've never seen a soul on show before. Tell me, can anyone join in? I might like this game the two for you have found for yourselves." He winked at Data.

But Picard only smiled, and tightened his hold on his friend. "No, it's a just a game for two, I'm afraid. And how long do you think you could stand all that sweaty grinding, eh Q?"

Q winced. "Hmm – perhaps you're right. A job well done, though I say so myself. And so deliciously annoying to almost everyone! I can't tell you…" He looked Data up and down, and then raked his eyes over Picard with unspoken, unmistakable intent. "If you get bored with him, _mon capitaine_…?"

"Not a chance!"

"Oh well – your loss." He looked around suddenly, and grimaced. "Oh dear, how boring. The Q are – as you would say – hot on my trail, and I wouldn't want to be found – they'd only be tiresome about me interfering again. So farewell – I will see you soon, _mes amis_!" And he was gone.

"Not if I see you first," Picard growled. Data felt the sound rumble through his body, and his neural net thrilled at the sensation. "And now," his Captain continued, "to other business. Mr Data, contact the _Enterprise_, if you please."

Moving to the flight cabin, Data did so, his fine fingers deftly manipulating the runabout's controls. "Geordi," he said, as his old friend answered the hail, "Captain Picard wishes to speak with Guinan. Can you patch her through?" He became aware of Picard standing behind him, his hand on Data's shoulder, his torso against Data's back.

"Will do, Data."

A few moments later, Guinan's voice – which Data's sensitive artificial hearing registered as holding more than its usual degree of caution – came over the speaker. "Captain?"

"Guinan," Picard said, in the significant voice he reserved for recalcitrant aliens, naughty children and mischievous friends. "Mr Data and I would like a word with you…"

_The End_


End file.
